


but does it fuck like a man?

by libraralien



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Mutineers Made Them Do It, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraralien/pseuds/libraralien
Summary: written for terrorexe flash fest for theprompt: francis crozier/harry goodsir, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, PTSD, rimming
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	but does it fuck like a man?

The passage of years has made Francis's memory strange and uneven. He does not think of England much. Once it was painful, but now the memories of the country merely feel foreign and dim to him. It is as if they belong in some other man's life, as if he had read them in a book or were told to him as a bedtime story as a child.

His memories of the expedition are far more unpredictable, neither belonging to his life now, nor the one that came before, but belonging entirely to it's own life. Some moments sit in his mind as vividly as if they happened yesterday, bringing about such strong waves of emotion he can barely speak. Other memories exist only in such a haze of alcohol and sickness and pain, that it would be difficult for him to describe any details. Others he forgets entirely, until they wash over his mind with a sudden clarity, so unique and terrible he can scarcely believe he forgot them in the first place.

One morning Francis's lip splits open in the cold and dry air, and a memory overtakes him.

He had been manhandled into the middle of the mutineer camp, thrown onto the hard shale, and perhaps a rock, perhaps a man's hand had knocked his lip open until warm blood has welled up there. Dr. Goodsir, resisting even less than himself, was similarly tossed about.

"Well gentleman, a bit of entertainment for the men?" said Cornelius Hickey, cheerfully, as if he was putting on a good bit of theater, something to raise the spirits.

"Come on now, give the doctor a kiss, then...no need to hold your hands down like that, put your hands on him. I thought the navy taught you this sort of thing?"

Both of them obeyed silently. Crozier suspected neither of them had the will to fight. Though he moved with an air of profound resignation, he could not help suspecting that Goodsir was on the verge of tears, his dark eyes looked mournful and shining when their gazes met. Crozier himself felt strangely distant, as if he were watching from afar.

He remembers the men crowded around the two of them, watching. He sees them watching reluctantly, gathered only at Hickey's orders, glancing away ashamed or forcing themselves to stare, as they had been at Hickey's own punishment. Then in a flash he remembers them spitting and jeering, finally able to vent their hate and resentment for their former captain. Or perhaps they were aroused by the display, men reaching into their trousers to work themselves lasciviously, eventually touching each other, ready to descend upon Crozier and Goodsir and take them, should Hickey direct them to. He cannot recall which of these was truthfully as it occurred, they all flash in his mind equally real and true.

"Mr. Crozier, why don't you use your mouth on Dr. Goodsir, his kindness surely deserves a reward," Hickey directed.

They both knew Hickey intended this in an obscene sense and clothes were shifted efficiently. Goodsir's member was small and soft, near buried in the coarse, thick bush of hair. Crozier leaned lowered his head and put it in his mouth, moving his head and mouth in a way he hoped satisfied Hickey and caused no hurt to Goodsir. Goodsir's part remained still in his mouth, and Crozier could feel his stomach fluttering in and out with a panicked breath, perhaps crying, though he could not see his face. But he could offer no comfort to him in this moment. 

He had no visions of the future at the time, but it is horrible to think of now the circumstances under which he would later be forced to have another piece of the man's flesh in his mouth.

They continued on, perhaps for a short time, perhaps for a very long time, he cannot now say, before Hickey ordered them to reverse their positions. Crozier remembers the hard rock against his back and and the stark grey sky above. He knows what else was happening, what Goodsir was being made to do to him, but he does not recall the sensations.

He rolled his head to make eye contact with Hickey. He sensed him growing restless, the suppressed shock and frustration the man projected when things did not go as he planned. He must have had an unfulfilled vision of the two of them buggering one another for his and his men's amusement, a pantomime of his own vices and the worst rumors about the Royal Navy. Sickness and exhaustion, however, were on Crozier and Goodsir's side, preventing either of their cocks from hardening in the slightest

He remembers thinking that while he knew that it was near impossible his own prick would stir, and for once he was grateful he would not blame Goodsir if his did. Who could account for what a body might do in circumstances such as these? He was ready to be buggered by him, if they must. There were worse things.

However, Goodsir was as inert as Crozier. This angered Hickey, though he was playing it off as boredom.

"Lower your trousers and bend over, Doctor, let's see that arse. Mr. Crozier, isn't it lovely? I think so. Why don't you give it a kiss for me? Right on the hole, I think."

Despite everything, Crozier almost rolled his eyes at the effort to be so deliberately shocking. 

Goodsir's body is vivid in his mind, this fragment of the memory offering a shocking clarity. His body looked hollowed out from hunger, but still gave the impression that he had once been soft and full, an almost womanly shapeliness to him. He knew that all of them must be ghastly pale, any part of them that didn't see sunlight, but Goodsir seemed exceptionally so. The impression of glowing whiteness was strengthened by the layer of dark hair that coated his entire body, at least, everywhere Crozier had seen or touched, which was in that moment his arse. The black hair thickened towards its cleft, and felt soft under his fingers as Crozier spread him open. He pressed his mouth against his hole, a chaste kiss. 

"Oh, come on now, show her some love, slip your tongue in!" Hickey jeered.

He did as he was ordering, opening his mouth wide, pressing his tongue against Goodsir's hole, until the whole thing was wet and slick, his hair wet against Crozier's face, the action producing crude sounds. Goodsir was whimpering, Crozier dimly hoped with pleasure, but despite the obscene closeness of their bodies, the other man felt very distant - they could not talk, they could not even look one another in the eyes in their current positions.

Opening his mouth in such a manner as he was pulled at the split skin, and he wondered if blood as well as spit was running down his chin as he worked his mouth.

Francis touches where his lip has cracked, gasping as if he has just received terrible news. He tries to put the experience out of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song "You Need Satan More Than He Needs You" by Future of the Left


End file.
